Self Defense Class
by ficdirectory
Summary: Morgan teaches self-defense.  Written for nannerz2cool's Alphabet Fic request S is for Self-Defense Class, featuring Morgan.  COMPLETE!
1. Go Big or Go Home: Reid Learns to Punch

Morgan couldn't stand seeing Reid all beat up - and by Hotch no less - so he offered to be of some assistance. He figured Reid might like to know what he could do if he found himself with a crazy-ass narcissist again. Or Hotch, while he was trying to win one's trust.

"Come on, Doc. I won't be too rough. I swear," Morgan promised.

He knew there was no reason Reid should believe him, especially after he made fun of him for failing his firearms qualification. But all the more reason for Reid to take him up on this. If he ever found himself unarmed again, he could have something to fall back on. Sure, Morgan knew they were all trained in basic strategies at the academy, but he also had it on good authority that Reid had failed every single thing dependent on physical ability. His genius and skill at the job were the reasons he was here at all.

"Fine," Reid sighed.

That's how they ended up at the gym late one night. On mats, at Reid's insistence, because he didn't want more injuries than the minor ones he already had.

Morgan took a deep breath and smiled.

Reid wrinkled his nose. "I'm glad you're getting pleasure out of this. It smells like sweaty athletic clothes in here."

"That's the smell of ladies and gentleman at work. Pumping iron. Getting strong. That's what you're gonna smell like, come the end of tonight…" Morgan grinned.

Reid pursed his lips. "I highly doubt that."

"First thing's first," Morgan said, rubbing his hands together. "When you hear a shot and you're not prepared for it? You hit the deck. Understand?" The memory of earlier that week, in the park, when they all got shot at was clear in Morgan's mind. The way he'd needed to awkwardly tackle Reid so he didn't get hit, still left his heart racing. He didn't need to be worried about losing teammates.

"Excuse me?" Reid asked, wrinkling his brow, clearly confused.

Morgan sighed, exasperated already. "Doc, you know what? Take your damn sweater off and that knapsack, too, all right?"

Reid obeyed, feeling exposed in just a collared shirt and corduroy pants. "Now what's this about a deck?"

"Okay." Morgan said, trying with all his might to keep his patience. "If you hear a shot, and you're out somewhere, like we were at the park? Get down. As soon as possible." He clapped his hands sharply by Reid's ear, indicating a shot.

Reid stumbled, getting to his knees first and then to his belly, and then covering his head. The whole process took an agonizing ten seconds or so.

"Okay, by now? You're too late," Morgan explained and then demonstrated how to drop to the ground when your life depended on it. "Like this."

So, they practiced. Morgan had to give the Doc credit for determination. Soon, though, he decided they had better move onto other stuff or else they'd be here all night working on duck-and-cover maneuvers. He was going to have to go _basic_-basic, if he wanted any of this to stick.

"Punch me," Morgan said, and stood right in front of Reid.

"You haven't done anything to me," Reid objected, looking longingly at his sweater and satchel near the door.

"I don't care! Just punch me! Make it real! Pretend I pissed you off. Like, earlier, with the whistle. I'm trying to teach you something here."

Reid tried to conjure the exchange in his mind. Sure, it angered him, but he would never throw a punch over it. That was just plain ignorant, especially when he was him and Morgan was…well…Morgan. It wasn't logical. But Reid figured he might as well try and threw a half-hearted punch in Morgan's direction.

"Okay. That was… I mean…" Morgan faltered. "That was good… No, you know what? That was _not _good. Watch me. I'm not gonna actually hit you, all right? Just watch." Morgan demonstrated the correct way to throw a punch and waited for the light bulb to light above the genius's head.

"What's the difference?" Reid asked, honest-to-God serious.

"Okay. The difference is, I'm getting my power through the ground. I'm letting it travel through the ground, up through my leg and into my arm. When you throw a punch, don't just punch with your arm. There's not a lot of power there. Watch me," he paused and clarified. "Watch my whole body. Not just my arm."

Reid concentrated, and finally saw that Morgan was pivoting with his right leg, to give his right arm some added velocity. It made sense. "You're pivoting," he said, as if this were a test. In a way, it was. Without it, he would be defenseless if he failed his qualification again - and with history the way it had been… Let's just say the odds weren't in his favor.

"Yes. Now you try," Morgan encouraged.

They worked on that until Reid was breathless and had broken out into a sweat.

"Just one more thing," Morgan assured. "Then we'll call it a night."

Nodding, Reid tried his best not to look as completely exhausted as he felt, especially when Morgan remained so relaxed and happy. As if he was used to this, and it really wasn't difficult in the slightest.

"Show me that first punch again," Morgan prompted.

Skeptically, Reid feigned a weak punch, with no power whatsoever behind it.

"When you punch, you don't want to _push_, understand? You want speed and power. So you want to retract as fast as possible. The more you punch. The more power you accumulate." He demonstrated and then waited for Reid to follow suit, but he simply stood there, at a loss.

Morgan took Reid over to a punching bag and held it steady. "This is an unsub. He's trying to kill you. Got it? Go!"

It took a few minutes to get into a rhythm, but Reid got the hang of it sooner than he expected. It felt refreshing to be able to do something to protect himself rather than relying on a gun or solely on other members of the team. He was so focused, Reid didn't notice when the bag was moved aside. The next series of punches hit Morgan square in the mouth.

"I am _so _sorry. I didn't notice…" Reid trailed off, horrified that he actually had made Morgan bleed. This was more terrifying than being in a room alone with Hotch and Phillip Dowd any day. Hotch, at least, had his back. Now, he'd angered a black belt in Judo. Reid winced. He knew what was coming.

But Morgan surprised him, smiling in spite of the blood. "That," he said, "is how you throw a punch."


	2. The Approach: JJ Learns To Love Clooney

It had been about a year since Morgan had done any good deeds to help his team out. He knew Reid would say it was debatable, since he didn't particularly enjoy himself that November night at the gym, still recovering from Hotch's beating. Still, it gave Morgan some satisfaction to have a way to give back. And frankly, he needed something else to focus on since coming back from Chicago.

JJ's fear was a perfect excuse to get her fine self over to his place and go over some dog basics. "All right, Clooney," he said to his giant brown and white mutt. "You be on your best behavior tonight. Got it? JJ's comin' by and she's a little nervous around your kind lately. No jumping," Morgan said, seriously.

Clooney smiled and licked Derek's hand.

"Good boy," he said, scratching the dog behind the ears.

When JJ knocked, Morgan hurried to answer the door. He kept Clooney out of sight for now, wanting to give JJ a chance to get used to the idea.

"I appreciate this, but it's not necessary…really…Emily's been helping out a little. We went to the humane society…it's…" JJ trailed off, seeing Derek's giant dog for the first time. Sure, he was no Great Dane, but they easily weighed the same amount. JJ had more faith in Clooney's nature as a wild animal than she did in her own. A gun had barely protected her last time. Now, she wasn't even armed.

She took a step back. Then another. She checked her holster and cursed, finding it empty.

"Don't worry. He's on sit," Derek reassured, as if that changed everything. "Wait. The humane society? When did you go to the humane society?"

"Couple of months ago…And what the hell does that even mean?" JJ muttered. Her breathing had picked up a little and her heart was pounding in her chest.

"What that he's on sit?" Derek asked, giving Clooney the evil eye. If this dog didn't behave, there would be no treats. No sleeping in the bed. No hunting with Gideon and his dog. "It means he's not allowed to move until I say so."

"And he listens to you…" JJ said, clearly skeptical.

"He hasn't moved, has he?" Derek asked. "First lesson around a dog you don't know," he said, seamlessly falling into the role of instructor. "Keep your body language regular. Don't be too tense but don't be too weak."

"Okay," JJ said, taking a deep breath.

Derek watched, and then stepped in front of her, blocking her view of Clooney. "Look at me. Do what I'm doing," Derek said easily. He stood naturally, posture relaxed, head up, hands at his sides.

JJ was trying. Her head was up, but fear was all over her and she was clutching both hands in front of her tightly. She took a step back and moved to turn.

"No, no, no," Derek urged. He intercepted her and stood behind her. "Second rule. Never turn your back if a dog seems threatening…which Clooney _is not_, okay? You're not in danger here. I got your back."

"So, what do I do?" JJ asked, her tone carefully controlled, but this close and he could see her shaking.

"Stand as still as you can. Breathe. You're not in any danger. These next tips should be easy for you," he smiled, attempting to put her at ease. "Don't look at him. Don't talk to him and don't touch him. Don't smile at a strange dog, because he might interpret that as baring your teeth."

"Not a problem…" JJ said, laughing nervously.

"You don't want to approach or surprise a dog you're unfamiliar with. But if you're clear that he's safe, like Clooney, approach him slowly and hold your hand out for him to sniff."

"Oh, right," she scoffed, keeping her voice low. "I've still got the scars from the dogs that took a bite out of me in Atlanta. Besides, you just said don't touch him."

It took some time before JJ was at ease around Clooney. In fact, Morgan invited her over several more times to get comfortable around him. To JJ's credit, she showed up every time, and every time, she was willing to do a little more than she was previously.

First, she extended a hand. Then, she was at ease enough to pet him. But the best part for Derek was when Clooney greeted her at the door a month later, and she greeted him with an easy scratch behind the ears and a treat.

That night, they hung out. They watched ESPN, yelling about all the bad calls, and tossing popcorn at the screen. Morgan sat sprawled on the couch, and JJ lay on the floor, using Clooney's ample body as a pillow.

When JJ's phone rang, alerting them to a case, JJ got up. Regret was shining in her eyes. "Bye, buddy," she said, embracing the dog. Clooney sighed heavily, clearly bummed that his new friend had to leave.

"So…now that you cured me of my fear…does that mean I can come by for a dog fix whenever I want?" JJ asked a glint in her eye and a genuine smile on her face.

"Sure. In fact, you can even clean up after him when he eats all those treats you give him. Or when he eats out of the garbage. You can deal with him climbing into bed with you, every damn night and breathing his nasty breath on you." Derek grimaced. "…I ought to make him sleep outside."

JJ smacked his arm. "Don't you dare!" she warned, laughing. "He's just lonely, Derek. You're leaving him all the time. Did you see how sad he looked when you were leaving?"

"How could I miss his big ass in my front window? It's like having a damn horse on my windowsill…"

"Maybe a pony…" JJ allowed, smirking.

"Right. Well, when whenever you need a fear of ponies remedied, let me know. I'm your man." Derek said, getting into his car.

"See you there. Thanks," JJ called over her shoulder.

Watching in the rearview mirror, Morgan could see JJ waving, and he knew better than to assume it was at him. In the window, Clooney's tail waved like a fan, knocking shit over. His tongue lolled out happily. Finally, Morgan couldn't help it.

He waved, too, before pulling out of the drive and leaving his best friend behind.


	3. Follow Through: Garcia Learns to Shoot

It was months before Derek could convince Penelope to come with her to the shooting range. All this business about not believing in guns was a little ridiculous for Derek's taste, especially since one had saved Garcia's life. Yes, he knew one had also almost killed her, but that was not the point. A gun was dangerous if it was used irresponsibly. And the best way to be responsible with a firearm was to be trained in how to use one.

"You know I'm only doing this because I love you, don't you?" she asked rhetorically. Derek paused to look at her. It had been a chore convincing her that she didn't want dangly bracelets, rings, or anything else that might potentially get in the way of pulling the trigger.

"Yes, I do, and I appreciate it, as the one you nearly shot in your apartment. He pulled into the lot and parked, waiting an extra minute before exiting the vehicle. "Okay, first rule? Always assume a gun is loaded, and with that, never point one at someone else…"

"Okay, in my defense? You gave me exact directions. You said if someone came through the door of my apartment, to squeeze the trigger. You're lucky I'm terrible at following directions under duress."

They walked arm-in-arm inside. Derek made sure they picked up eye-protection. He stood next to Garcia, before a bulls eye target, figuring she would be more comfortable aiming at something that wasn't shaped like the outline of a human body.

"Okay. Second lesson. Front site. You look through this spot here to find your target," he directed, indicating a spot on the weapon.

Garcia squinted. "Okay, first of all? I'm not Cool Hand Luke. These eye-protection goggles aren't doing a thing for my crappy vision. It's either my usual lenses, or I'm blind as a bat."

"Well, if you lost an eye, your vision would go from what it is now to fifty percent. Just trust me." To put her at ease, Derek stood behind her, putting his hands around her own.

"Ooh…Now this is _much_ better…" Garcia commented, smiling. "So I look through the little eye hole first…"

Behind her, Derek rolled his eyes, but couldn't hold back the laugh that bubbled up inside him. "Right. Find your target."

"Ten-four. Got it. The rough blur that's the target. If I hit it at all, it'll be amazing…"

"Next step is pressing the trigger. Now, weapons have a little kick, so be ready for it," he warned.

"I can't," she said plainly.

"Can't what, baby girl?"

"I have trigger thumb."

"You have _what_-what?" he asked, getting distracted by her scent. She smelled like an orchard and sunshine.

"Trigger thumb. Sent too many texts…or too much scrolling…I don't know…it's an occupational hazard," she explained patiently.

Again, Derek smiled. "Garcia, you pull the trigger with this finger," he said, showing her on his own hand. "You only use your thumb to hold the gun. Ready?"

"As long as you're in this with me…" she said, sounding nervous.

"Okay. Front site," he prompted.

Garcia turned to stare at him, confused, until realization dawned slowly. "Oh, you mean the eye-hole."

"Yes," he said, trying to keep his cool. He reminded himself that this was a big step for Garcia and that she was just learning. "First step, eye-hole. What's the second step? Don't do it, just tell me."

"Shoot," she said, sounding too much like she'd broken a nail for his comfort. "For the record?" Garcia added, "I'm still really, really against this."

"And I'm really, really trying to help you. Yes, second step is pulling the trigger. Third step-"

"How many are there?" she interjected.

"Why?"

"I'm wondering if I should take notes…" Garcia smirked.

"Ah…you're a wise gal now… Well, smarty-pants. There's just three. The _third step_ is to follow through… Keep your focus on your target until I tell you."

"Got it. Eye hole, shoot, and focus. Doesn't sound too hard…" Garcia agreed.

So, they practiced. The first time Derek pulled the trigger, Garcia squealed. As much as he coached her to expect the noise, it didn't do any good. Even earplugs didn't muffle it enough for her liking. They practiced a while, and Derek considered every time Penelope hit the paper where the target was drawn, a good shot.

At the end of the night, she was sore from keeping so much tension in her upper body, but Derek still counted it a success. "Thanks for doin' this, sweetness…" he said, as they got into the car hours later.

"Anything for you, hot stuff… You know that…" Penelope winced, massaging her shoulder. "Now, I'm gonna go home, and rest my trigger thumb and my shooting muscles in a giant bubble bath…and try to get rid of this pounding headache."

"You trying to make me feel guilty?" Derek asked. "'Cause it's working."

"I hate guns. One day at the shooting range isn't going to change that. But I recognize the necessity for them, especially doing what you guys do. I'm glad you know all about front site, trigger press, and follow through. Saved a lot of lives. Including mine."

"Anything for you…" Derek said, and hoped she knew he meant it. "And don't you mean eye hole, shoot and focus?" he teased.

"Just for this, I'm gonna drag you to something terribly unpleasant and make you participate…" Garcia says, smiling a little.

"Fair's fair," he responds, nodding.

Which is why, when the call came months later, Derek said yes, even with reservation. It was why he agreed to fill in for an actor in one of her top secret plays that no one else in the BAU even knew she participated in. Even though Derek hated being onstage as much as Garcia hated being filmed. Even though he had stage fright so severe he vomited before he appeared before the audience and delivered his single line: "Run!" with a perfect comic timing that would never betray his nervousness.

Afterward, he found her and she was full of praises for him. "You did so great. Thank you so much!" she said, kissing his cheek and leaving a red lipstick print behind.

"Just glad I didn't lose my lunch onstage…" he murmured.

"_You_ have stage fright?" she quipped, humor shining in her eyes. "Derek Morgan has stage fright? You're in front of people all the time. What's different here?"

"Let's just drop it. You were amazing, and now we're even," he told her, draping an arm around her shoulder.

"Yes we are," Garcia said, smiling to herself. "Yes, we are…"


	4. The Power of Humor: Emily Is Recertified

Emily had been back two weeks when Derek let her know she needed to get her takedown recertification. It wasn't exactly the truth, but how else was he supposed to make damn sure nothing that happened with Doyle could ever happen again? His own confidence in being there for a partner in the field had been shot that night the previous March.

He came clean eventually, and Emily agreed anyway. That weekend, she showed up at the gym - the same gym where Derek had taught Reid to throw a good punch years ago - dressed in sweats and ready to go.

"First," he said. "How are you feeling? I'm not about to do this if you're not ready."

"I feel like kicking your ass," she said coolly. "Now are you here to recertify me, or coddle me?" All this babying irritated the hell out of her. What Emily really wanted was to be treated the same as she always had. Seven months away had been seven months too long. She had missed them. And she felt different enough without Derek constantly confirming it for her by asking how she felt. Yes, she nearly died. But she wasn't dying now, and she wasn't about to start behaving like some delicate flower because she'd been through hell.

Derek smiled widely, pleased by her response. "Now, get ready," he cautioned. "Cause I'm about to teach you some BJJ." He moved his hips slightly, as if to music that she couldn't hear. In the background, she could hear irritating rap music from early in the decade. She was glad that they didn't have to listen to that.

"Sounds filthy," Emily returned, her eyes shining. She recognized the acronym for Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. It definitely sounded better abbreviated.

"Come on, Prentiss. This is serious stuff," he argued, sobering before her eyes.

"You're right. I'm sorry," she apologized, schooling her face to show no emotion. She knew full well that Derek wasn't finished blaming himself for what happened to her, and Emily knew it was her duty as his partner to ease the guilt, even if it meant poking a little fun at the situation. If they were two guys, it would come with the territory. She couldn't handle the wounded looks he gave her, whenever she tried to make a joke out of what happened.

Keeping a grave face was difficult, especially when the moves Derek taught had names like The Clinch, The Rear Takedown and The Mount. All were so rife with sexual innuendo Emily could barely contain her personal commentary.

They were practicing The Back Mount when she couldn't help herself. "I should have _definitely_ tried this one on Doyle," she managed, breathing heavily while astride Derek. He lay facedown and struggled like an unsub.

"Prentiss, would you stop with the Doyle stuff?" he panted. "It ain't funny."

"Oh, it's funny," she countered. "It's funny that you blame yourself…when…clearly…it was Hotch's fault," she joked breathlessly, pinning Derek with her body weight, pushing her stomach against his face at his instruction. "He killed the lights in the warehouse."

Derek's response was muffled, and Emily refused to let him up until he tapped the floor, indicating they were moving onto the next lesson. They practiced in that gym for hours, with only a small break for lunch.

Their final lesson was The Rear Carotid Restraint, which Emily was well familiar with. "I think I actually _tried_ this one on Doyle," she said gleefully. In handcuffs," she said, with her arm carefully around Derek's throat. The last thing she wanted to do was choke him out.

"Why are you so ornery, woman?" Derek asked, coaching her through the move that she already knew.

"I'm not ornery. I'm just…trying to get you to lighten up on yourself. If it were reversed, you wouldn't want me blaming myself for months, would you?"

Derek, of course, wasn't in a position to respond. But once they finished and Emily was gathering her stuff, he approached her.

"No."

"Excuse me?" she asked, turning, still bent over repacking her gym bag.

"No, I wouldn't want you blamin' yourself."

"Good. Then please stop. It isn't your fault. There was nothing any of you could have done for me that wasn't done. Now. You wanna get some dinner? I'm starving."

"Sure. I know a place," he said.

Over Chinese food, late that evening, Emily couldn't help asking. "So, am I the only one you've imposed your helpfulness on this way?" She took a bite of rice and waited.

"Prentiss," he scoffed. "What kind of question is that? I help everybody. I taught Reid to throw a punch, taught JJ how to act around dogs, and I taught my girl, Garcia, how to shoot a gun."

"You took _Garcia_ to the shooting range?" Emily asked, incredulous. "How'd _that_ go over?"

"Pretty well in the end. Everything I teach goes well…" he boasted, offering her a cocky smile.

It felt nice being here with her, as friends and coworkers, without the constant weight of guilt. He liked that Prentiss showed up, even though she was well acquainted with most of the techniques he showed her. He liked that she gave him ten hours of her time when she really didn't have to. She was that kind of person.

"Of course," she nodded. She thought a minute as Derek ate his egg roll and she stabbed her sweet and sour chicken. "So, who taught _you_?" she asked, a wicked gleam in her eyes.

"Who taught me what?" Derek asked, glancing up from his plate.

"How to do everything you showed us?"

"My father taught me to punch. Hotch taught me to shoot. Ah, Rossi taught me how to act around dogs. And Gideon gave me plenty of opportunities to implement my black belt training," he said wryly.

"I take it they weren't open to taking a lesson from you…" Emily ventured.

"I'm always there if they need me," Derek said, looking her in the eye.

"Yes, you are…" she said quietly.


End file.
